How Could I Be Okay?

Shortly after Neil died, people would say to me, "You know it's okay to not be okay." Truthfully, I can't imagine pretending to be okay. Someone recently asked if there would be tears at his service. No tears at the service? Since I shed tears everyday--at home, in the car, in the grocery store, at rehearsal, while I am out running, in my office, at his office, why would I not shed tears at his service? We are planning a "come as you are" event. All emotions are welcome. 

I've lost my person in this world and I'm at the beginning of a very long journey to learn to live without Neil. It's unwelcome and most unreal, but here I am. Given Neil's age, I can't say it was totally unexpected, but the weight of his loss hits just as hard. 

There is no right or wrong way to grieve. My approach to grieving reminds me a bit of my approach for when I moved to Washington D.C. to work in the U.S. Senate. Without a doubt, that's an exciting opportunity. I didn't know enough to set expectations for myself for the year that I was scheduled to be there. So, instead, I took the position of, "I'm here to have whatever experience I'm going to have." 

That's my approach to living without Neil. I have no idea how to exist or to be without him. So, I can't predict what I will want, need, or for how long I will want or need those things. I'm just here, having whatever experience my heart, mind, and body need to have, especially in these early days of navigating grief. I have no expectations, aside from knowing that people do eventually learn how to carry on. I mean, you don't have to look very far to see others struggling with grief. They are all around me. We all do find, or will find, a way to go on. 

I should have said that this is my current approach to living without Neil, because I suspect that my coping methods and my approaches will not remain static. 

I'm not fully sure why I'm writing this blog, but my thoughts about Neil and my thoughts about grief keep taking a narrative form in my mind, so why not try this? If I change my mind, I can take this down tomorrow. 

Here is what I have learned so far about my experiences with grief. 

• Immediately after Neil died I thought of all of the people across the decades, generations, and centuries who have lost their person. Statistically speaking, about half of us will have that experience at some time in our lives. 
• Similarly, I also thought about all of the other people across the globe, who also lost their person on March 25. How many of us are there? Thousands. Hundreds of thousands, for sure. Somehow I felt less alone with that information, like I was part of an unavoidable, global experience. Some of us felt that way about COVID, like we were suffering, but we were not alone in our suffering. Those hashtags, #AloneTogether, didn't bring me much comfort at the time, even if they were true.
• Grief is front and center for me. I'm not interested in turning away from grief and I'm not really looking for a distraction from my grief. Grieving makes me feel closer to Neil for now. 
• I don't want to pretend that I am okay when I am not. I am not okay, and how could I be, really? What I tell people is that "I am a grieving person, who is basically functional." I find that not everyone knows what to do with this answer. They may ask me for more detail and then I have to help them move on to why we are meeting or talking. I tell them that it's okay to move forward with our agenda items. It's a bit like saying, "I have a headache, but I'm hanging in there." No one expects a meeting to stop because someone has a headache and I don't expect all of my meetings to stop while I am grieving. 
• People talk about grief being like a wave and that you learn to ride those waves out. That is not my experience. I am swimming in grief all the time. I am 100% fully aware, all day long, that Neil has died. I have moments of intense grief and less intense grief, but I wouldn't describe it as a wave. 
• People talk about grief "catching them by surprise," as if it comes out of nowhere. That is also not my experience. I am grieving and every time I am overcome by strong emotions, it--so far--makes sense that I would feel this way. 
• I have what I am calling "grief brain." I am foggy, forgetful, and easily confused. A few weeks after Neil died I bought a battery-powered hedge trimmer. I used it. I moved some things in my garage in order to plug in the charger. After about a month I went to use it again. No battery in the charger. No battery in the tool. Where is it? The mower battery and the weedwhacker battery are plugged in. I searched and searched. No battery for the hedge trimmer. Grief brain.
• I am either under or over-communicating. I either don't want to engage very much, so I listen in social/professional settings. Or, I over-communicate, especially in text messages. I give so much detail about my recent experiences that when I look at my messages later in the day, I cringe a little for myself. But, then I remember that I am grieving. It's okay. My texting partners can read or not read. They know what's going on and I don't need to take care of them. 
• The last thing I have noticed has taken me a bit by surprise: People are so very, very generously kind to me. I tend to think that most people are nice and I am surrounded by kind people. But, I mean, people are really kind when you are grieving. They check on you, send you cards, chocolate, food baskets, gift certificates, text you, and so on. And, it doesn't happen just once. People repeatedly check on me to express genuine concern for my well-being. I have been the recipient of so much love, concern, and attention. It is really beautiful and so appreciated. If you are reading this and I am describing you... Thank you, if I haven't said that already. 

These are my experiences with grief...right now. I have no idea what tomorrow or the next day will bring. I have no idea how I will manage once the memorial service is over and once we have cleaned out Neil's apartment. I am still engaged with Neil 24-7, but eventually those activities will stop. I don't know how I will manage or face that time. 

I hope I will face it with openness and a willingness to engage with whatever my heart, mind, and body need at that time, too. 

Thanks for reading. 🖤